


Clot

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Ficlet, PWP, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T’Pol slicks up Hoshi in the decon chamber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clot

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> A/N: This was originally posted as part of the Naughty Drabble series, but I’m splitting up and reposting this part as the original “series” only ever accumulated two parts.

The medical lights of the decon chamber cast a blue glow over Hoshi’s pale skin, glistening wherever the gel’s applied. T’Pol casually slips Hoshi’s ponytail over her shoulder, massaging more gel along the smooth line of her collarbone. Hoshi tilts her head back ever so slightly, neck arched to give T’Pol more room to work, and T’Pol fixes in on the creamy expanse of Hoshi’s body, broken only by the thin blue lines of her undershirt. It hangs loose over her chest, vaguely cinched too high up her torso, exposing her midriff between that and her silky shorts. T’Pol is hyper aware of every centimeter of Hoshi’s bare body, and there’s a primal instinct that makes her want to stand between her mate and the glass siding. But decon is standard mission procedure, and T’Pol stays where she is. 

She rubs the gel in little circles below Hoshi’s collarbone, dipping down amidst her cleavage, digging into the fabric to cover as much of Hoshi’s chest as possible. It’s a protective measure, nothing more, but when T’Pol’s fingers ghost over the side of Hoshi’s chest that holds the human heart, Hoshi has a sharp intake of breath. 

Hoshi’s fingers are busy gliding clear gel up and down T’Pol’s hips, but they still as T’Pol skims the tips of her fingers beneath Hoshi’s shirt, covering the tops of her breasts. T’Pol’s eyes, otherwise focused on her task, flicker up to watch Hoshi’s face. Hoshi’s eyelids have lowered halfway, her plump lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed with red blood. T’Pol considers that her ministrations may have been a little _too_ thorough, but it’s too late now. Hoshi swipes her pink tongue over her bottom lip and takes half a step closer, eliminating all the space between them. She tilts her head to the side, fitting it alongside T’Pol’s, and breathes, “Please.”

T’Pol’s would normally scold such a notion. Not here. Not on duty. But when Hoshi pulls back, her eyes are burning with that intoxicating human stubbornness, and T’Pol doesn’t need another mind meld to know what Hoshi’s thinking. They just had this discussion two nights ago. Vulcans may be able to wait every seven years, but humans have needs. And if T’Pol wants to pursue a... relationship... with one, there have to be some cultural concessions. T’Pol knows Hoshi’s already made more than her fair share. 

So T’Pol, in an effort to prove her adaptive skills and attentiveness, nods her ascent. Hoshi bites her lip, face instantly lighting with a smile that’s undeniably adorable. T’Pol removes her lotion-slicked fingers from Hoshi’s breasts, skims down Hoshi’s sides, and clutches at Hoshi’s hips. When she takes a step back, Hoshi follows the silent order, and T’Pol ushers and backs her into the blue wall. T’Pol’s back shields them from sight, but she still keeps an ear trained on the door. 

She looks Hoshi dead in the eye, expression unwavering, and diverts one hand from Hoshi’s hip, down the arc of her pelvis and underneath the tight waistband over her shorts. Hoshi sucks in a breath but does no more. She’s a good girl, a professional woman, and she knows that public affairs come with conditions. After a second, her eyes flicker back up to T’Pol’s, dilated pupils holding her gaze. 

T’Pol shifts her hand lower for a reward. Her fingers brush through the short, dark hairs below Hoshi’s navel, press harder into Hoshi’s warm skin and dip along the moist curve between Hoshi’s legs, bending to cup her. Hoshi’s brow knits together, and she makes a tiny noise, then visibly forces herself to relax while T’Pol pets her gently, rubbing back and forth along her inner thighs. Hoshi’s opening is tiny, tight, and rosy, at least next to T’Pol’s, but it grows wet so much easier. T’Pol runs her middle finger along Hoshi’s slit a few times, until it’s moist and quivering, and then she curls her finger in, probing around the tip to find the little hidden nub that always makes Hoshi moan. Hoshi’s hands, once rigid at her sides, lift to clutch T’Pol’s shoulders. They dip once, slide over T’Pol’s breasts, palms digging against T’Pol’s nipples and fingers squeezing, but T’Pol shakes her head a fraction and Hoshi obediently withdraws. She rests back along T’Pol’s shoulders and looks both at T’Pol and somewhere far away. 

T’Pol finds the spot she’s looking for and grinds her blunt fingertip into it; Hoshi pants and arches her hips forward. T’Pol keeps this up until Hoshi manages to regain control of herself, and then T’Pol draws her fingers back down the open seam to find the right hole, which opens so very easily for T’Pol’s finger. She worms a single digit up Hoshi’s hot channel, while Hoshi’s thighs squeeze together around T’Pol’s knuckles and her fingers claw at the straps of T’Pol’s shirt. Hoshi’s resorted to chewing her bottom lip again, now glistening pink and a little swollen. If they were in their quarters, T’Pol would lean in for one of those mouth-on-mouth kisses that Hoshi’s so very fond of. 

But they aren’t in their quarters, so T’Pol stands, still as a statue, while her fingers twist inside her mate, a second soon joining the first. She strokes the inside of Hoshi’s walls and gently pistons her way in and out, her thumb running up and down Hoshi’s lips. The smell of human sex is permeating the decon room, but T’Pol knows the filters will have it unscented again less than a minute after they leave. In the meantime, she lets the detox gel mingle with Hoshi’s natural juices, and she makes love to Hoshi with her fingers until Hoshi is nearly trembling in her arms and looking ready to cry. 

Hoshi stiffens when her release comes. A look of pure, unadulterated bliss washes over her beautiful face, her lips falling open and her eyes squeezing shut—something T’Pol would discourage if they were alone together. Here, it makes it easier for T’Pol to stay unattached, seemingly unaffected. She jams her fingers as deeply inside as she can and stops their movement, and for a moment, Hoshi’s body seems to spasm around her. Her breath heaves. Then she’s coming undone, and she lets out a single, whispered groan, voice high-pitched from the effort of holding it back. She looks inordinately gorgeous at times like this, when she’s lost all inhibitions at T’Pol’s figurative hand. T’Pol wouldn’t admit aloud the allure of this reckless, emotional abandon, but privately, she appreciates the trust it means her lover has for her. 

She slowly pulls her fingers out of Hoshi’s body, trailing a slick line up Hoshi’s crotch. As soon as her hand’s out of Hoshi’s shorts, Hoshi slumps forward, her forehead pressing into T’Pol’s shoulder. 

T’Pol gently pushes her back, and Hoshi nods, bleary-eyed, and murmurs, “Thanks.” She licks her lips and smiles, so radiant that any thoughts of unprofessional discretion filter right out of T’Pol’s head. She’ll do what she must to meet her mate’s needs. It’s only fair. 

Hoshi makes it easy. She lazily smears more gel across T’Pol’s stomach until Dr. Phlox’s voice releases them from their temporary exile, and two of Hoshi’s fingers twist around T’Pol’s as they leave.


End file.
